


Safekeeping

by popatochisp



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Big Sans (Undertale), Cuddling & Snuggling, Devotion, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Hurt/Comfort, Intimidation, M/M, Other, Pacifism, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, unsuccessful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 08:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16991949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popatochisp/pseuds/popatochisp
Summary: By now, Sans knows how to do what he has to do to keep his loved ones safe.Anyone who makes him actuallydoit is in for areallybad time.





	Safekeeping

Sans was remembering.

He hated remembering. He was no good at it, not anymore.

His caved-in skull was like a sieve: big stuff  _usually_  stuck, things that caused a real emotional response or felt important at the time, but everything else…

Lucky for him, the things he was remembering right now fit the criteria to a t.

Sans had no trouble recalling what it felt like to snap a neck like a twig. It was easy to call up the sensation of EXP flooding his soul, choking him with power he’d never wanted with every unsuspecting life he snuffed out. The sticky slickness of human blood on his hands was a memory that was never,  _ever_  going to leave him—sometimes, when he closed his eye-sockets, he could even still  _see_  it.

It made him sick.

These memories were things Sans would  _gladly_  lose to the void of his useless skull if he could choose, but right now…

Right now, he  _needed_  them.

The man beside him at the bar was nursing his drink. It was slow-going because he kept pausing to press it against his face, cool glass on hot, bruised flesh.

“hey,” Sans says, getting the guy’s attention. He blanches when he gets a good look at the skeleton talking to him, huge and scary with his head wound and his burning red eye-light, but Sans is used to that sort of reaction. It doesn’t stop him from asking, “who gave you that black eye?”

The human still looks a little on edge, but he scoffs. “Just some dumb little tease,” he grumbles. “Don’t worry about it, man.”

“not worried,” Sans assures him. “pretty sure i know the spitfire ya’ got it from, though.”

He drops your name and the human frowns.

“How the hell—”

“names sans. think ya’ might’ve heard of me already.”

 _There’s_  the fear, coming back around.

Sans  _knows_  this guy’s heard of him because he knows  _you_ : for reasons he can’t even begin to comprehend, you  _adore_ him; pursued him until against his better judgment, he agreed to be yours.

It made you so  _happy_ , and Sans loved making people happy but especially  _you_ , his warm and kind and infinitely forgiving human who talks about ‘my boyfriend, Sans,’ all the damn time like it was actually something to be proud of.

This piece of garbage coworker of yours  _knows_  how very much taken you are…and he tried to drag you into the bathroom anyway.

“Listen, buddy,” the trash says shakily, hands already raised in surrender. “It…it was a work party, y’know, there’s…things happen at those, I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to…”

“i don’t care what you meant.”

Sans stands from the bar stool and watches the terror on the human’s face spike.

He’s a pretty big guy—has been ever since the famine hit and monsters started eating meat soaked in the potent magic of the human soul—and he takes full advantage of that growth spurt now, towering over this prick in the most intimidating way he can.

“i just stopped by to give ya’ a heads up. ya’ ever touch ‘em again…” Sans claps a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezes, feeling the grind of thin little human bones beneath his fingers. “i’ll have’ta pay ya’ another visit. ya’ know what that means?”

He mutely shakes his head ‘no’ and Sans lets his remaining pupil go dark, his eye-sockets pitch black above his rictus grin.

“if i gotta come find you again, you’re gonna have a   **b a d  t i m e**.”

Sans steps back, pretty sure he’s made his point. The human hastily nods, sputtering terrified agreements and tossing money onto the bar before scurrying out as fast as his feet can carry him, his drink forgotten.

Sans can understand the haste: he’s got other places to be, himself.

A quick shortcut and Sans is back home where you’re sitting safely on the couch right where he left you, rubbing idly at your bruised wrist.

You smile when you see him and it lifts a weight off Sans’ soul. He may be  _good_  at scaring people but that doesn’t mean he  _likes_  it, and you…

You’re never scared.

You love him, you’re happy when he’s around, you laugh at his jokes even when you’ve heard them all before, and that’s something so special that Sans would do just about  _anything_ to protect your smile.

Even if it means revisiting the worst years of his life.

“Sans!” you chirp, holding your arms out to him.

Well, he can’t refuse an invitation like  _that_.

He settles himself down on the couch and into your arms. You can’t quite get them all the way around him and it’s so cute that he just  _has_  to nuzzle the top of your head, chuckling your name.

“Where’d you go?” you murmur, with your cheek pressed against his sternum. “I missed you.”

“just…takin’ care of something.”

You frown, just a little. “Kevin?”

“shouldn’t bug ya’ again.” Sans cups your soft little face in his hands, pressing his teeth to your forehead. “just tell me if he does, okay?”

He worries for a second that you might chastise him, but you don’t. All you say is, “Okay. I trust you,” and his soul throbs in his rib-cage.

Of course you do—you  _know_  him, all the way down to his marrow, and you know he’d rather dust than add another coat of blood to his hands.

…But a friendly little chat to make sure you stay safe when he’s not with you?

That, he can still do.

And maybe a little something else, too.

“lemme see your arm, babe,” he murmurs, curling his hand around the finger-shaped bruises beneath your skin. “might be able to rustle up a little magic for ya’, if i get the  _green_  light from ya’.”

Your laugh is music to his lack of ears. Healing has never been his forte, but for you…?

Anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Posting some drabbles of mine separately just because! Originally from my collection, Bag of Bones, where this and the rest of my drabbles so far can be found.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> And hey, shameless plug! If you like this softie HT!Sans, feel free to check out my other fic, [Fur a Good Time, Call...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881328/chapters/37005171) ;D


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